


I Almost Loved You

by Morgan_Inkeye



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: And Torment, Angbangst, Angst, Hurt With Mild Comfort, M/M, Rated M for Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 20:47:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14818574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgan_Inkeye/pseuds/Morgan_Inkeye
Summary: Melkor is haunted by memories - or illusions of his mind.





	I Almost Loved You

**Author's Note:**

> I will not lie, this is not cheerful.

    A shroud of dark mist envelopped him, seeped into him by his skin. Shadows of smoke invaded his lungs, filled his mouth, replacing air by long tendrils. As spiderwebs they were, refusing him any deep breath. Slowly it all crept up inside his skull, pressing against bone-walls. His head threatened to explode.  
He attempted to defend himself – by moving, screaming, even just _thinking_. There was nothing to be done. Only did he achieve to open his eyes.

 

He was sat on his dark throne, surrounded by the same eerie, dark mist that clouded his brain. He could hardly see the great room – he knew it by heart, yet the atmosphere seemed different. Viscious, vile. As though he were not expected to be here. How could it be ? It was _his_ fortress, after all. It however felt unwelcoming.

 

Black. Bleak. He was frozen into place, petrified by silence and anguish. A chill started to creep up his spine, as a billion spiders climbing him up, their countless legs stinging him with each tiny step. It rapidly grew unbearable, as this skeletal touch now scratched at his bones – _inside_ of his bones. He had to do something – anything to chase it all away. He needed to focus, to simply _focus_ to drag himself out of this abyss, to escape this swallowing, formless monster.

To focus, but on what ? Nothingness was around him, and all was draped in shadows.

 

Finally, as though summoned by force of his mind, something appeared in sight. It laid at his feet, and was shapeless in the darkness. Colourless it was, and stone-still. Enlighted from above – a cold light from atop his head.

He put up his hand, letting his fingertips graze at the crown, and at one jewel. A tingle of pain jolted all through his flesh, and he moved to another. He had to make sure – had to _know_ his treasures still were there. The second one stung his hand just as the other did. He reached for the last. And it was here.

 

For a long moment, he remained still. Had he not lost it ?

Had not this Elven girl robbed him of his precious stone ? This sorceress of a child, and her companion, who had sneaked into Angband... Had it been but a mere dream ?

 

Melkor cast his eyes down again, and light seemed to shine brighter – or perhaps had his sight gotten used to darkness. No, there definitely _was_ more light. He could feel the jewels' power – a heavy, cursed burden upon his head, that he had chosen to bear.

Their radiant light brought him no peace, no comfort. It only made him suffer, and doubt all and every one.

Yet he could not blame them. Could not risk to. They would abandon him – leave him. Leave him. Alone. At the end of the day, all things betrayed him.

 

The shape at his feet seemed to unblur. Progressively the mist grew thinner, diaphanous, and a distinct form came into sight. A corpse.  
Was it that Elven girl ? Probably. So, he had slain her. Of course he had – he could not be so easily tricked. None could best him.

Yet the more he eyed it, the less it resembled her. No, it was no Elven princess. Neither was it her companion.

He could now see colours. Red. Pale skin. And a wide, dark pool of blood beneath.

 

He detailed it with horror, a grim reality creeping up to his mind.

The corpse had long, once beautiful hair. Once of bright flames. Now of ashes, as a forgotten fire extinguished by cruel rain.

And only smoke remained, with rememberance of warmth.

He saw red raiment, a gaping wound tearing a graceful throat.

 

Melkor could neither move nor think. Only could he behold.

His dear one laid breathless at his feet – lifeless.

Melkor watched him. He wished he could scream, weep, merely be moved. But he could simply gaze upon Mairon, seeking response in his dead eyes, waiting for a breath to escape his chapped, dry lips. Naught came to him – life had left Mairon, and he was long dead.

 

He broke out from his statue-like stance, only to rise up for a short second, and to fall to his knees.

Was _this_ truth ? No, Mairon was immortal to him. Melkor knew he would be the one to go first, and that his faithful one would ever remain. His little flame was eternal. _This_ could not even be considered. And yet.

 

He put out a trembling hand, brushing the hair away from Mairon's face. So delicate, so fair. Yet death-kissed, cold, now and forever frozen. His hair was as summer-burnt grass – thin and rough. No more wavy locks, cascading down a lean figure. No more strands of lava spilling upon their bed.

No more of their love.

 

He _wanted_ to weep. His throat was painfully tight, his eyes burnt him, yet no tear would be shed. He could not understand. This could _not_ be truth ! He repeated this to himself as a spell, as a chant echoing through his head. He had to remember, to _know_ how he had let it occur.

 

_You killed me._

 

Mairon's eyes were planted on him now, ablaze with hatred. Melkor froze in shock.

 

_I came to you and you did nothing. You let me die._

 

Each word, by this fury-revived mouth pronounced, made dark blood flow from the gaping neck. Horror filled Melkor as he watched it all – his lover undead to haunt him.

 

_I wrestled for you._

 

Dry lips cracked. More blood widened the pool.

 

_I died for you pathetic, meaningless Majesty._

 

Melkor's heart stopped, as Mairon's dislocated body rose from the floor. He stood now, looking down at him. A wrathful ghost, filled with resentment only.

  
  


_I struggled to defend your miserable crown. Behold now, the image of your gratitude !_

  
  


Spectral hands wound around Melkor's throat. He could breathe no more. And nails pierced through his skin, and through his flesh, reaching beyond his ribcage. He gasped at the sensation, as his heart seemed to be ripped out repeatedly.  
Mairon knelt down before him. He tilted his chin up, and their eyes met. Despair and hatred. His voice came out as a sigh.

  
  


_I almost loved you._

  
  


All faded to black, as he felt dragged out. Within the next seconds his eyes opened, and he sat up as he awoke without a sound.  
Melkor remained still for a long, lingering moment, lest he fell into this abyss again.  
He was covered in sweat, cold drops running down his face and spine. He could feel his hair plastered on his forehead. He was panting hard, his heart racing in panick.  
  
  


Which truth was real ? What had _really_ happened ? He could not tell. He remembered Mairon laying down at his feet, in his own blood, just as he distinctly recalled him standing by his side – alive.  
Melkor turned his head slowly, hoping to be relieved with the sight of his lover.

And he was.  
Mairon was asleep, untroubled and still, his features relaxed. He was breathing softly, deeply. Melkor reached out, his hand weak and shaking, tentatively caressing Mairon's cheek. He stirred, groaning as he awoke, and his eyes opened slightly.

  
  


''Are you alive ?'' Melkor asked, and immediatly felt silly.

  
  


Yet instead of mocking him, he sat up too, not saying a word. He took Melkor's charred hand in his own, cradling it to his chest. Mairon stared at him, eyes full of sympathy. He could see Melkor's distress, and knew he was powerless to counter it.  
  
Melkor could feel himself trembling helplessly, and the tears his nightmare had refused him to shed finally came about, drowning his eyes, adding up to his pitifulness. Why was he always so broken, so ridiculous in front of Mairon ? How could he still be loved ?

His little flame ignored it all. He pulled him to his chest, tenderly stroking his sweat-soaked, raven hair. Mairon patiently waited for him to calm down, and to ease all the horror of his dream out.

Melkor buried his face in this so-beloved chest. He focused on this warmth, on the gentleness of those slim fingers through his hair. And on the beating – oh, be it blessed ! – of Mairon's heart. He clung to him, desperatly needing to feel him alive.

  
  


''Do you wish to tell me about it ?'' Mairon suggested in a whisper.

  
  


He shook his head vigorously, already remembering those frightening visions. He merely wanted to tear his mind into pieces to never, ever again dream such horror.  
  
  


Eventually Mairon laid him down again, still holding him close. He muttered gentle, tender words at his ear, accompaining his caresses through ink-black hair.  
Mairon was here. Alive. His little flame, his all-little one was cradling him tightly, and would never forsake him.  
He looked up at him, and Mairon answered by a smile – though concerned.  
  
  


''Never die,'' he whispered. ''I beg you, my love. Never die.''

  
  


Mairon kissed the top of his head.

  
  


''I will not,'' he promised.

  
  


Those words, even so simple, eased his mind to sleep anew. This so dearly loved breathing guided him as he drifted away. He feared to drown again, yet he was not alone. Mairon was here.

He would always be.

  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> Some aspects of this are based on personal experiences. I tried to make it as realistic as possible... and to show a devastated Melkor. Ah, I love to make him suffer :')  
> Thank you for reading. Please, let me know what you thought ! :)  
> Much love ❤️
> 
> (If you would like to see my art, I am on Tumblr @morgan--inkeye.)


End file.
